


your footsteps sound like wind chimes, always walking away.

by yewwnears



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 14:01:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yewwnears/pseuds/yewwnears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, while everyone is moving on, he's still stuck in between now and then, then and Louis. And the saddest part is, Harry can't stop loving Louis, doesn't think he'll ever be able to. Not when Louis is the breath in his lungs, the beat of his heart, the ache in his soul. Harry doesn't think anyone can ever love Louis as much as he's come to love eyes that crinkle around the edges from genuine laughter, hair that flails in all directions, eyes that shine with the radiance of a thousand splendid suns. No one can love Louis as much as Harry loves him. Harry thinks, he thinks he's shouting it out but no one is around long enough to acknowledge it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your footsteps sound like wind chimes, always walking away.

It's still as fresh as the cool sea breeze on a chilly night, still sharp, and somehow it still manages to nip at his skin, his heart, his brain, filling his chest until it's full to the brim, until he is suffocating and aching. It follows Harry when he goes to the grocery store to buy his essential encumbrances, plasters itself on him when he's cooking pancakes in the morning and it curls around him tight at night when he's trying his hardest to fall into slumber. Harry doesn't understand it, it seems perpetual and unfathomable, and he wants it to go away, to lessen the burden but he doesn't want to forget either. He may be bitter, and lonely, and unlovable, but there was a time he wasn't, and Harry thinks that yeah maybe that's why he shouldn't blame himself as much, but he does. Every atom fabricating his cells is ingrained with distaste for himself, sorrow even. Occasionally there's regret but Harry tries not to acknowledge that at all.

Some days go by in a blur, like one moment he's reading a book and the next he's back at the bookstore for another. Other days, not so much.

On other days, he curls up into himself and tries to keep all that is filling up inside him from spilling over.

OoO

The call comes just as he's gotten off the phone with his mom, ringing incessantly in the unsettling quiet of the room. Harry's used to it now, the complete solitude. He prefers it that way. Prefers to wallow in his dolour alone so that no one can know how much of it he still remembers, still carries heavy on his shoulders. The phone buzzes from beside him and Harry absently answers the unknown number.

"Harry." The voice rings through his ears, loud and eerily familiar. His senses prickle with heat, more alive than they have been in a long time. "It's been three years."

"It's been three years." He repeats slowly, the words ricocheting off the walls of his brain, accumulating in the middle. It's been three years. "Hello Simon. To what do I owe this pleasure?" Harry swallows thickly around the lump articulating in his throat.

"How have you been?" Simon Cowell asks instead, completely undermining his plea of getting straight to the point.

"Good." Lies like these come easy now. Harry's never been as good at anything as he is at this.

"Very well." Simon chips in from the other side, the sound of soft rustling distinct in the background. Harry's never wanted to hang up faster than he feels like doing now. "So I've talked to the other lads about it and they seem to agree. How do you feel about a reunion tour of former One Direction? The media will go crazy, especially the fans."

Harry laughs dryly. "I'm sure they've all forgotten about the five little boys from England with big dreams who just got lucky." There's a bitter taste rolling about on the edge of his tongue, and Harry thinks he should at least try to be a bit more civil considering he's talking to one of the most well known names prevailing in the world. He's twenty four after all, damnit.

"I'm afraid you're wrong there, my boy. If you're ever on Twitter anymore then you'll see the trends 'We still love One Direction' and 'Bring One Direction back'. I might have encouraged a few rumors here and there. You don't have to decide now. Take a few days. Ponder over the opportunities this could bring."

Harry wants to yell what fucking opportunities will help fix him now, it's no use but he clears his throat instead and manages to avoid his voice from wavering. "Yeah. I'll think about it."

"Alright." Simon says. "It'll be good to have you back." His voice has steered in a more soft direction, and Harry feels his chest knotting tightly, so much that it's hard to breathe. "They'd love to have you back, Harry. I'm sure they still miss you." There's a sharp intake of breath from his side likes he's going to laugh or throw up or both.

"Y-yeah. Sure." His voice sounds unsteady to his own ears, weak, and pathetic, and broken. Just like he feels, just like when Niall hugged him tightly and cried in his neck, when Zayn pulled him in close and murmured 'don't be a stranger, yeah?', when he walked out the doors of their studio and never looked back. It's frustrating how after three years having past, nothing has changed about him. He still feels like the nervous, scared sixteen year old auditioning for X factor all those years back, and it's so, so frustrating that he wants to start crying with no intention of ever stopping. "I'll think about it."

He hangs up and waits for the panic to set in.

OoO

He's walking down the hallway that has come to be etched in every single part of him. Harry remembers how this place used to ring with the aching familiarity of home, mingled with elation and solace, but now it only holds a lifetime of painful memories; sometimes too excruciating to remember, too vivid to forget.

Click. Click. Click. There's only the sound of his footsteps that echo long and wide, white flashes of light illuminating the narrow corridor with sleek mahogany doors on either side. Harry knows what he's doing, even though this is going to end up backfiring (luck hasn't been in favor for a long, long time) and he'll probably be miserable for the next ten years, but he'd rather be that than having to see disappointment linger in every eye that catches his gaze.

He knows the directions by heart now, years spent in the building that has come to affect him a way he never thought would be possible. He knocks on one of the doors, huffing out a deep breath and fidgeting on both his feet uneasily. There's a loud "come in" to which Harry responds by twisting the doorknob, letting himself in as his heart comes to settle in his throat.

Simon's great. He's more of a fatherly figure with just a touch of intimidation that simmers below small patches of skin. Harry likes Simon, he really does, but standing in front of his desk, blood tinkling with something that is a lot like nervous fear, Simon doesn't feel like that fatherly figure, he feels more of someone he used to know, someone he chose to leave behind to start anew. Except nothing has changed, everything is still there- still fresh and scorching.

Simon offers him a fleeting smile, gesturing with his hand to the seat opposite his desk. Harry positions himself in a way that he's comfortable with and finally, finally looks Simon in the eye.

"So you just have to sign a few papers." Simon states potently, shoving forward some papers and a pen that Harry immediately clutches in his hands. "I was willing to send someone over to you flat-"

"No, no it's okay, really." Harry says quietly, scribbling in that habitual way of his, all the while ignoring Simon's piercing eyes penetrating into the side of his head. There's nervous energy and a silence that deems just on the edge of awkward but Harry can handle that so he focuses on furiously signing his name wherever he is expected to.

"The boys came together. Said they missed the studio." Simon starts suddenly, and Harry is pretty sure there is a small burning hole in the middle of his loopy l. He knows God is testing him, Simon is testing him, and he's better than that so he lifts his head and smiles.

But then, "They miss you."

Harry puts the cap on the pen back on, placing it onto the desk with such gentleness that astonishes them both.

"Doubt it." Harry mumbles wearily after a melancholy pause, hands clenched into fists in his lap while Simon scrutinizes him over his glasses, a look of pure sympathy swirling in the glossy moss of his eyes. Harry hates it, hates sympathy more than he hates the situation he is in.

"Harry-"

"I don't want to talk about it." He croaks, and it's booming in the company of two, dangerous, desperate and detached. Harry stands up, averting his gaze to his trainers, frowning at the untied laces that flail in every direction. "I've signed all the papers. Just call if you need anything else."

His hand is resting on the doorknob again, only this time Harry can make out each one of the thick veins twining together and then parting to go their own way. And suddenly something goes sharp, and everything is alarmingly clear, making Harry whip around to lock eyes with Simon Cowell. "I'm scared." He admits.

"I'm so fucking scared I'm doing this but it's done now, isn't it? There is nothing I can do to walk away, and I so badly want to. Walk away, like I did three years ago, and yet seconds ago I was signing a contract and putting myself exactly where I shouldn't be. I'm scared and I don't think I'm ready to face all this again." It comes out in one single breath, he breathes it out, and waits for the judgement to come, craves it.

Simon stares at him for a long, long time, his expression undecipherable. Then quietly, so quietly that Harry has to lean forward to catch the syllables that flow out his mouth. "Do you? Really want to walk away again?"

Harry feels a swirl of unforgettable roil up inside of him, physically scarring him with the intensity they carry before he bangs the door behind, leaving for the conversation to be buried deep in that particular room of Syco.

OoO

 

Harry's the first one there. He needs to breathe in the woodsy scent of the furniture, squint at the lights the sparkle down at him, run his hands over the crisp sheets of the bunk beds, but most of all he needs to compose himself before he sees the others again. It's been a year since he last talked to Liam, two since Zayn and Niall, and well, he's not really talked to Louis ever since his eyes were half clouded with that terrifying anger and something that looked a little like hurt. It’s the anger that made him strong enough to walk away. It whispered "see? he likes you a lot less now. it's easier to leave now."

Harry knows now that he was just fooling himself back then, clinging onto his foolish sentiments like they were the only things anchoring him to the earth, now that the one thing that had always been safe and warm and home had diminished in the withering remains of his memory. He likes to think he's better now, tries to fill the hollow space that takes up most of his chest.

"Niall, I swear mate you've grown like only two inches in the past two years." Zayn's thick accented voice startles him and Harry tries desperately to busy himself by putting his clothes in a neat pile on his bed. He's not ready to be here, not sure if he ever was going to be. There's the muffled sound of laughter and multiple voices, slithering closer and closer until the only thing Harry can hear is his own heart pounding ferociously in his ears.

They trudge in one by one, but Harry's back is still on the lot of them, breathing slowly. In and out. In and out. It only takes a moment for the merrymaking to dissolve in the dense air surrounding them. It's tense, and Harry knows all four pairs of eyes are on him, knows because he would be able to recognize those voices syncnorizing from the other half of the Pacific Ocean. He feels funny.

Slowly, Harry turns around, and it's like a punch straight to his gut.

It's so surreal, after all this time and all this distance, that Louis is standing in front of him, the same cerulean eyes and the same feather hair and the same caramel skin. And it hurts, because Louis is just as breathtakingly beautiful as he was last time, he's beautiful even when he's not looking at Harry, he's beautiful even when he hates Harry. Harry feels, well Harry doesn't know how he feels. He's scared he's going to drown if his emotions keep up with the intensity they're torturing him with. Harry hates himself when he thinks that Louis will always be beautiful, always be able to lighten up the saddest of people with that crooked dazzling smile of his. Harry might just die while he has the time.

"Hi." He hears someone say softly, and he whips his head away, scared he's given away too much already. Liam's eyes are just as soft, his smile just as kind and Harry aches all over because these are his friends, his best friends, and he can't imagine how he was ever as stupid enough to cut them out of his life.

"Hi." He says back, his voice strained. He feels the pressure of the world collapsing down at him all at once, and it takes all his effort not to fall to the ground in that moment. There's a flurry of movement before he's stumbling back with a pair of arms circling his waist and a flushed face buried in his neck. He knows the blonde hair all too well.

"Hi." He murmurs again, but this time it's ringing with the silent plea of i'm sorry, please forgive me. i'm sorry, i love you so much. Niall lets out a strangled noise- something between a laugh and a sob, and the only thing Harry can do is hitch him closer. Niall never did anything, Niall who always loved so openly, cared so little, willingly gave away so much. Niall who he loves very, very much. It's not fair.

"You're a dick, you know that right?" Harry hears him scoff in his mops of curly hair and Harry merely nods, clinging on for the life of him. Now, now that he's here amongst them, he never wants to let go, can't even he tried to. His eyes are stinging and he pulls away to swipe them away angrily. Niall's own are rimmed red, his face all blotchy and Harry hates it because he did that. He leans forward and places a rough kiss on the other lad's forehead.

"I hate that I love you." Niall barrels on, getting up and pulling Harry with him. "God I hate you so much but right now all I want to do is cuddle you until I'm fifty." Harry bites his lip, trying to hide the smile that threatens to arc his mouth up. Niall sighs. "Missed you."

 

"Missed you too." Harry croaks, it's broken and sincere. Harry hopes his face isn't crumpling like his heart is, hopes the pain isn't visible in the color of his eyes like, Harry hopes for so much, and it's almost more painful than looking at Louis.

Louis, who has retreated to the back of the bus in the absence of Harry's attention suffocating him.

There's Liam who smiles at him like nothing's changed, and there's Zayn, who's simply staring at him through the set of dark spectacles that lay perched on his nose. He looks at Niall who squeezes his hand in encouragement. Before he can open his mouth, Zayn's already speaking.

"I'm not Liam or Niall, okay? You can't just expect me to be friends the way we were. You never returned any of my phone calls or texts and you don't have the fucking right to expect-"

"Zayn." Liam cautions warningly.

"No, he's right." Harry finds himself saying. "I don't expect anything. I don't ever expect you to forgive me. I've already missed out on that chance." The words ring in his own ear, loud and heartbreaking but also true.

Zayn falters at that but contorts his face to the hard unnerving expression that goes up to the tip of his eyes. He's edging closer while Harry sidesteps to let him pass. On the last minute, Zayn turns around, jaw set hard, cheekbones prominent. "He's engaged. Thought you'd like to know. Although I hardly think it matters to you." Zayn looks at him for a little longer before stomping off.

Harry flutters his eyes shut, squeezing Niall's hand that's still interlocked with his a little more tightly than he would have liked. Harry focuses on breathing. In and out.

OoO

That night Harry lies awake in his all too familiar bed, wide awake, and he cries a little. By a little he means a lot. He cries until his pillowcase is sodden with the salt water of his own tears and curls up around his blistering chest. He cries because Louis is engaged, because he's happy, and doesn't need Harry in his life. Louis never needed Harry in his life, he's always been his own shining star, rising up and far, fearless and unstoppable, like a hurricane. The thought of every moment of joy Louis has achieved without him, pierces Harry's heart with short stabs of perpetual agony, always managing to leave him breathless for what feels like days.

The memory of every intricate line engraved on the platinum band Louis carries around on his fourth finger like a treasure doesn't, simply does not make situations any better. Harry might have sobbed right there when Louis walked into the living room (you could call it that) of their tour bus that evening where Niall and Harry had been cuddling (Niall hadn't been joking when he'd said he'd attach himself to Harry like glue), and Harry's eyes had automatically flickered to his left hand where the ring stood out more than any feature of Louis. He would have liked to find pride in his magnificent acting skills, only to find that he was full to the brim with nothing but the utmost despair. One look at Harry, and Louis had dashed in the other direction just as rapidly as the first time.

"You okay, mate?" Niall had murmured tenderly.

Harry had laughed shakily in response, trying to keep his voice light and airy. "I'm fine. Honestly, everything is great."

Niall had merely frowned, pulling Harry impossibly closer. When Harry had mustered enough courage to look him in the eye again, there had been something rueful playing around the corners of the blonde's plump lips. To answer Harry's confused query, he'd blurted, "You still wear your heart on your sleeve, Harry."

OoO

Harry's read it in the news, seen it on the television, heard it on the radio, but it's the last thing he had expected even after he left Louis behind all those years ago. Because there had been this stupid childish part of him, still is, that pictures him getting married to Louis, him Louis wakes up in the morning with gentle kisses, him who gets to share a time span of forever with Louis. But that's simply not the case anymore.

They've all come so far now, the four strangers who used to be his lifeline, his brothers, his best friends, one who he was in love with so profoundly, it petrified him at times to no extent, and while they've done great, beautiful things with their life, Harry's still where he started, barely hanging onto the frail threads that bind him to his life.

He'd like to think he's come a long way ever since he chose to forget about Louis but Harry knows that instead he's come to the point where he can't even lie to himself, as easy as it had always been.

The thing is, while everyone is moving on, he's still stuck in between now and then, then and Louis. And the saddest part is, Harry can't stop loving Louis, doesn't think he'll ever be able to. Not when Louis is the breath in his lungs, the beat of his heart, the ache in his soul. Harry doesn't think anyone can ever love Louis as much as he's come to love eyes that crinkle around the edges from genuine laughter, hair that flails in all directions, eyes that shine with the radiance of a thousand splendid suns. No one can love Louis as much as Harry loves him. Harry thinks, he thinks he's shouting it out but no one is around long enough to acknowledge it.

OoO

World famous boy band, One Direction broke up just around the time turned twenty one. Obviously, there was a lot of chaos amongst the fandom, lots of tears shed in vain, even a few thousand death threats that literally said they'd kill the boys in their sleep if they even so much of thought of doing so. It was too late by then, though. They broke up, went their own ways

Up to this day, Harry still blames himself and carries it around like an old friend who refuses to ever leave.

OoO

"Hey Harry, come on." Liam urges. "The lads are waiting."

"Pretty sure they hate me." Harry mumbles, flicking through the channels displayed on the flat screen TV, watching but not really seeing anything.

"I don't have you," Liam says. "And neither does Niall. Can't say much about Zayn and Louis, though."

"My point exactly." He sighs, pressing the off button on the remote, focusing on wolfing down the rest of his bag of Doritos. There is nothing very feminine about eating junk and watching chick flicks that mimic his sad life, thank you very much.

"C'mon Harry, please." Liam pleads, doing that stupid thing with eyes again, and Harry gives in. He owes Liam at least that much.

"Alright but if there's a single knife in sight you better write me a fucking brilliant eulogy for my funeral, Liam Payne. I can't afford to die without class."

"Well that sucks because you don't have any."

"Shut up."

They bicker all the way to the living room.

OoO

Their first show is in London and well, they are supposed to stay at some gigantic posh hotel but Harry intervenes, inviting the other four to stay at his apartment. It's big enough to fit twenty people anyway. He expects Zayn and Louis to spit their refusal in his face but he's a bit surprised and anxious when they have nothing against it (Harry knows it's got to do something with the other two) He's not surprised that when they run it over with Simon, he gives in a bit too willingly.

So he's here now, walking along side Liam to the vast living room. Harry's not at all sure if he wants to do this, his hands are starting to sweat, all clammy, as he tries to think of ways to abscond the next two hours, if God really hates him; more. Liam smiles reassuringly and slithers his hand over Harry's tense shoulder. He tries to relax but all that goes out the window once he steps into the same air space as Zayn and Louis. There's that familiar twinge that twists his stomach when he glances at Louis. It's like typing louis tomlinson's ass on Google images but just a bit more intimate since this is the whole of Louis Tomlinson. He's real, and warm, and within touching distance.

It's so unfair, it kind of hurts.

Harry's used to it though. When missing and wanting someone becomes as familiar as the beat of your heart, as permanent as breathing, you learn to live with it. Harry thinks he's still in the process of learning, he's not fully in touch with it yet.

"H," Niall squeals at the sight of him, shifting over so Harry can budge into his side. Louis and Zayn are huddled together on the recliner, and Harry gulps, pretty sure they're plotting about the most effective way to make him suffer a long painful death. "Isn't this great?"

He's not thinking straight when he answers blatantly, "No."

Liam frowns at him disapprovingly, Niall cackles like Harry is the funniest shit on earth, and Louis and Zayn seem to agree whole heartedly. Things couldn't be merrier.

"What are we watching?" Liam chirps, trying to ease some of the evident tension that dangles about between every molecule of air that surrounds them. There are bowls of popcorn and other snacks already cluttered on the floor beneath them, and Harry wonders when it became a good idea to not seal all his food cabinets. Harry almost wants to slap Niall for bringing out his sacred pack of Hershey’s. Harry hates everything.

"Finding Nemo." Okay, so maybe he doesn't hate Niall all that much anymore. He curls around Niall and Liam, absently munching on identical slabs of Twix, fixing his eyes on the screen to avoid the various looks he's receiving. Niall spares him a glance along with a terse smile, and Harry can only offer him his Hershey’s in response. Stupid Niall and his stupid adorable smile.

Harry's eyes naturally flicker to where Louis is sitting, shoulder pressed against Zayn's, and there's that old twinge of jealousy rising in his stomach as if it's always been there. Harry has to look away.

"Oh dear," Liam gasps after a while when Nemo's swimming out in the dark empty water like he's watching the movie for the first time, and Harry can't help but grin

OoO

"Are you crying?" Niall asks incredulously, eyes alight with crackling laughter. In response, Harry buries his head in the crook of Niall's neck, sniffling as quietly as he can afford, and ignores the laughter that follows.

"Disney films make me emotional, okay?" He hiccups and wipes at his eyes before pulling away and shoving Niall playfully in the shoulder. Niall chuckles goodnaturedly, ruffling his hair, and Harry's smile falters.

He's reminded of all the times that were harryandlouis, louisandharry.

And then, "So Lou, when is the wedding?" Harry knows Zayn hates him, wants to set him on fire, but does he really want to see Harry crumble so pathetically it's disgusting, right in front of everyone? He sucks in the last of the air around him and gets to his feet

"I’m going to bed." His voice comes out steady or so he hopes and it's almost too quiet to bear. He meanders to his bedroom, and without bothering to change Harry flops down on the bed, pulling the covers over himself.

It takes a few minutes, but all the pent up frustration and anger comes tumbling out through the hot stinging burn of his eyes, cascades down in the form of a waterfall, and Harry hates how heavy his heart his, how miserable he's been all this time, and it's frustrating how he can't move on, how he's clinging so tightly onto a past that still manages to ruin him, diminish him to ashes within seconds.

Each tear that slips is scorching, and now that they're here, falling rapidly like an eagle diving down to catch its prey Harry can't stop them, they fall and fall and fall and fall, and with them escapes some of the hopelessness he carries around every day. He’s so, so in love with Louis and he can't imagine he's ever going to stop, and that is the single most terrifying thing to stand still in his life. He's scared of so many things, so many of which are so simple, so stupid.

Most of all Harry's scared of being alone forever.

Harry hears when the door flings open, hears the padding of footsteps on the sleek wooden floor, tries to ignore the slumping of his bed under massive weight, listens intently to the monotone pattern of soft breathing. It's so strange, hearing himself and the other person ,whoever it is, do the same. And yet, his breaths are so uneven, so hoarse like he doesn't know what he's doing with his life anymore, why he's still here. His mind is muddled with doubts and insecurities, all of which still cloud every vision to the point where it's hard to see.

At least the other person in the room knows what they're doing. Living. Each exhale and inhale is soft and placate, taunting look how happy I am, the happy you'll never be again.

There's far fetched silence rumbling in the eerie quiet of the room, the sparse fumes of moonlight that dance about illuminating the room in blue and black, engulfing Harry and coating him with streaks of mesmerizing beauty.

It happens so suddenly, so quietly, it almost knocks all the wind out of him. Because there are a pair of arms wrapped around his thin weight, heat pressed against his own, the beautiful scent of cigarettes, and wood, and soap, and home, and Zayn that make him dizzy. Harry doesn't want to cry any more but this is Zayn, the Zayn who used to be constant and homey and loved him almost as much as Harry loves him. Harry doesn't blame Zayn for hating him, he has every reason to hate Harry. After all Harry gave him every reason to leave, and yet, he's here, quiet and achingly familiar because words have never been the thing for them, it was in the looks they exchanged, in every secret smile they shared, it was the friendship harry should have cherished.

Somehow, all of it only makes him cry harder.

So when Zayn kisses the side of his head, whispering through it how sorry he is, how much he loves Harry still, how much Harry means to him still, the only thing he can do is turn into Zayn's chest and squeeze him back in a way that echoes i don't deserve you. i love you. i'm sorry, too.

OoO

Harry loves the crowd. There's always exhilaration that seeps into his blood and makes his heart pound in his ears when he's out there on the stage. The fear that he feels firsthand gradually transmutes to high energy, once they're chants of I love you or Harry Harry Harry One Direction. Out there he feels like he owns the stage, like he's on top of the world. What he does, what he did, made him happy, even if it wasn't always the best job in the world.

But now, now that there is now caramel haired boy -man now- to fool around with, no cerulean eyed boy to press whispers into his ear, no Louis to share the feeling of being loved with, Harry doesn't feel like this is what he was destined to do.

On the contrary, he feels empty. And it's so fucking stupid, because this is their first show, first time in years belting out to lyrics together again, and Harry doesn't once feel like this is what he loves, what he should always do.

How can it, when all Harry thinks he's destined to do is love Louis unconditionally? Lace his fingers with Louis' to never, ever let go. Keep him close; engrave in every cell that makes up his brain the way Louis used to say his name, a hundred times, a thousand times.

So correction, Harry loved the crowd.

OoO

"Harry, we're going out. No ifs, no buts, whatsoever." Niall proclaims, nudging him to get dressed, throwing a black v neck in his direction which Harry catches deftly.

"Why are we doing this again?" Harry groans, chucking the shirt over his tight jeans, raking his left hand through his unruly hair.

"We just performed the first show of our reunion tour, you didn't fall and embarrass yourself, and I didn't muck up the lyrics. This calls for celebration."

Harry grumbles a series of profanities underneath his breath before opening his mouth once again to say, "I thought we were going to cuddle."

Niall chuckles. "Oh shut up, you twat. Although I must say, I never took you to be a bit of a recluse. I think that's what we keep Zayn around for."

"Yeah, well," Harry shrugs his shoulders in response and then they're off to some posh Italian restaurant in the hired car, and it's fun. It always is with Niall. Just like old times.

"The lads are waiting." Niall keens, and Harry knows to expect them so he follows without futile attempts at excuses, but pales considerably when he's seated right across from Louis. Well, thank you very much, he offers to whoever is responsible of his fate.

He glances at Louis, and it takes all his breath away.

Harry knows beautiful things when he sees them, knows when to appreciate them, and maybe it's because he's numb all over and can't feel his toes or maybe it's because the restaurant lights are up too close and luminant, Harry thinks Louis looks brighter in contrast to everything, like he's the sun and the rest of them planets that don't shine just as bright.

And suddenly, Louis is everywhere.

He's in the air Harry is breathing in, he's flitted himself seamlessly in between the threads that bind Harry to his heart, he's in the laughter of the other boys, the bells that chime to let another customer in, the rush of frigid air following that makes him shiver, but most of all Louis is in Harry's memories where he shines with the bursting radiance of a thousand suns, a place where he's still Harry's.

Then, sudden and out of the blue, Louis looks up and for the first time in year, his eyes latch onto Harry's and well; all Harry can do is hitch in a long labored breath.

Now that they're looking at him, the edges hard and the irises alarmingly the color of the ocean, Harry feels what Louis does when he looks at him, all anger, and sorrow, and regret. They're the eyes Harry knows so, so well, cemented in every part of him. Except, like the eyes he knows, these icy ones don't crinkle around the edges with genuine happiness, instead the wrinkles smother the skin with a reminder of aching tiredness, of how this amazing man sitting in front of him was forced to age far beyond his time.

Harry knows he plays a massive part in it, and he almost cringes on the spot.

"Hazz, you haven't even touched your salad." Liam acknowledges from what seems like a faded out memory, (he's the faded out memory) and Louis' eyes dart away. Harry clears his throat, slowly and deliberately.

"Um, yeah. I just- I don't feel so well. Think m'gonna head home. Sorry guys." He swallows thickly at the sight of Niall's disappointed frown, and Zayn's raised eyebrows. "Really, I'm just gonna head home. You lads have fun though."

He gets up, without so much as looking back strides out the door because all of this is too much. The thing is, Harry can't sit in the same Louis and pretend everything is fine. He just can't. Not when Louis looks so breathtaking, not when he's not allowed to say it out loud anymore.

There are footsteps that sound like wind chimes following him, pitter patter, pitter patter. Harry fears them, so he walks faster, when really he's the one walking away. He's a fucking coward, he knows that like he knows the back of his hand.

He can't walk fast enough.

OoO

Three months pass by, things never change. Louis never looks at him long enough, hasn't even said one word to him, and Harry doesn't want to expect but now they're in America, and maybe, just maybe America will have a miracle dancing around every corner he turns, every sidewalk he walks down, and maybe he'll take some of that needed miracle and hide it in his pocket. Maybe a miracle might make Louis love him like he used to.

OoO

"You'll love me always, right?" Zayn asks woefully, his head peeking out of his own bunk to look at Harry, who’s on is just a few feet away. "I mean like forever, right?"

"Of course." Harry murmurs softly, trailing his eyes from the keypad of his phone to positions them on the raven haired lad's perfect face.

"And you think I'm hot, right?"

Harry just stares at him because well, what. When Harry can form no coherent words, Zayn slides out of his own bed, looking a bit like a lost puppy as he pads his way onto Harry's bed, the bus rattling along in the broad daylight."C'mon Hazz I'm good looking, aren't I?"

"Yes but like, what the fuck Zayn? Why do I even have to remind you," Harry splutter as the former's lower lip trembles and all Harry can do is think oh, no.

"But Harry," Zayn halts to a stop, looking at him with huge hopeful eyes.

"I do not understand." Harry says blankly, and God, when did he become as responsive as a fucking robot? Harry thinks now might be a good idea to join those social skills class.

"Perrie wants us to take a break. We're over, you see. Over. Done." Zayn flails dramatically, and Harry really doesn't understand why he's friends with this idiot.

"You're still with her?" Is what flows out of his mouth incredulously instead and oh, Harry might as well drown himself, he's such a great friend.

"Of course I am." Zayn sniffs, resting his head on Harry's shoulder and oh, no no no. "We were perfect together, she was perfect. And to think I was going to propose. Propose! And she broke it off. Can you believe it?"

Harry nods thoughtlessly.

"I mean, no. No, not at all." He quickly recovers and shakes his head but Zayn's eyes are fixed onto his phone. Harry needs to get out of here because after sad Zayn comes angry Zayn and he still can't decide which is worse.

He runs a hand through Zayn's silky smooth hair as the lad whispers things like broken, fucking love her so much and i'm lost without her. His sentiments soon lull into heavy snores, chest lifting and falling peacefully.

"Liam!" Harry calls frantically, once he's sure Zayn is deep into his dreams. "Liam!"

OoO

 

Dallas is hot and beads of sweat are already accumulating upon Harry's forehead, trailing all the way to his jaw line. They're in the arena, rehearsing.

Dallas holds perpetual memories- Louis giving him head right in the middle of a signing in a tight closed area while hundreds of screaming fans waited anxiously outside, one of the few times they actually got to share a hotel room (like they didn't sneak around late at night just to fall asleep together) Louis' eyes shining in the silvery moonlight as he made sweet, tender love to him, Louis' kisses that whispered promises into his skin, arms that held him close, lips that coaxed his gently, legs that twined with his like two twigs, inseparable, hands that found his and never let go.

For Harry, Dallas is as beautiful as it is painful.

OoO

The concert runs smoothly, and Harry is utterly exhausted. He walks backstage, and it's overwhelming, the response they're still getting. It really is. But for now he just wants to rub off this thin strip of make up and fall asleep. The others have already trudged to their respective make up rooms and Harry thinks they probably took the same car back to the hotel. He opens the door and walks in, dragging his feet all the while raking a hand through his unruly tufts, but then he just stops. Because well, Louis is standing in his dressing room, frozen in time, looking fresh and clean and Harry feels his heart leap into his throat. His hands, by default, clench into fist, fingernails leaving deep crescent marks into the smooth stretch of skin. Harry tries to remember how to breathe, in taking sharp wisps of air, giving out the same. He can't feel his legs, he can't feel anything as a matter of fact.

"I'll just." He stutters, uttering whatever is seeping into his brain and making it work even if it is ever so slightly. "Um, I'll just-" And then he thinks Louis probably doesn't even care so it would be a good thing if he simply shuts up and wanders off in the other direction, leaving his footsteps to be washed away like those imprinted in the sands of a lone sea shore, water soaking into the same inflicted place and diminishing the reminder of someone having been there once, vanishing their entire existence.

The whole thing sounds so devastating, the thought of no trace of evidence, that he's completely gone, scratched out from Louis' life. It's things like these that prick at his skin, like a needle, pushing in and out, absconding irreplaceable scars onto his skin, meandering through his soul and leaving behind nothing but the memory of what he had, what they had.

Only this time when he turns to walk away, Louis is still here, all abstruse and unbelieving beautiful, and he knows what Louis must have felt like all those years back when Harry turned his back on him. It stings like hell, and Harry just can't hurt Louis anymore, he can't. He needs to say something, this, whatever this is, can't be it for them, not for a love that ceased to be stronger than anything he had witnessed with his own eyes. But before he can turn around, say at least something, Louis' already beaten him to it.

"It's funny how this is exactly what I expected of you. It doesn't even affect you. Turning your back on things and running like a coward is exactly your thing." When Louis speaks it's placate and shocking in the quiet of the room, and it's like a jolt straight down Harry's spine to hear that same velvet voice again, even if it is for all the wrongs. Slowly, he turns around.

"You're, you're pathetic. You leave, and you like to see people burn and writhe in pain, and you probably laugh about it later." Louis' voice is menacing now, lowering an octave as he moves closer, closer than he's been in years. And Harry wants to argue that no, no i've never wanted that, but all he can think about is that even though Louis' standing mere feet away, he feels like he's miles away, so, so out of reach, and he needs him closer.

"And that really fucking sucks because like," Louis swallows thickly, and Harry hitches in a breath. This is it. "Like you were never supposed to leave and I. I trusted you and in the time that you didn't need me anymore you ended up showing me every reason I shouldn't have let you in. I let you in. I actually bloody let you in." Louis laughs loudly but there's no humor ringing to it, it's dry and raspy. Harry feels something rising in his chest because all of this is happening and they're here, and he doesn't think he could stop this even if he wanted to. He wants to say something but his mouth has run arid, his own saliva seems to be failing in keeping him alive.

"You fucking left me, you just left. And, and you never told me why or what or like," Louis' meeting his eyes hard on, and Harry seems them waver for a hundredth of a second, sees the hint of a gleam in them that is not at all congenial. Harry knows how insecure Louis really is, how he tries to hide behind his spontaneous and flamboyant facade, how the thought of everything Louis tries so hard to keep hidden in the depths of him coming to the surface for anyone and everyone to pick out, is the single most haunting thing for him. "You never told me what I did wrong."

His words end up in a broken whisper and Harry's heart literally breaks because Louis should never think he's the reason for anything wrong. Not when he's the reason for everything right.

"So I want to know what I did-"

"You were happy." Harry finally croaks, his voice almost too quiet, almost too broken. "God Louis, you never- it was never anything you did. " It's sort of hard to speak, there's bile building up in his throat and it's not going away, and Harry hates it because this is the last thing he needs right now. "You were happy, and I didn't make you that. I couldn't. So I left. I just wanted you to be happy and if," And here Harry has to stop for a moment to close his eyes and just breathe. "Eleanor made you happy than that was everything you deserved."

Louis' eyes are cloudy now, an indecipherable veil hanging in front but Harry knows these eyes and when he looks up at Louis again, he looks torn and there's something rueful playing around the corners of his mouth, stretching all the way to his cerulean eyes. He moves closer and there's a flurry of movement but it's gone so soon that Harry is second guessing himself. That's too bad because he almost let himself believe that Louis was reaching out for him.

 _"Harry."_ Louis whispers. It's the first time he's said Harry's name like that in a long, long time and it's both beautiful and terrible at the same time and Louis sounds so weak.

Harry just barrels on. "And I'm sorry I just gave you no reason before breaking up with you but you were just really happy, Louis. And I couldn't take that away from you."

"Bullshit." Louis snarls, suddenly seething again. "You are such a big asshole and the least you could do was tell me, or call me or even text me. But-"

"You wouldn't have believed me." Harry intervenes simply he knows, knows Louis and his need to make everyone happy without bringing into consideration his own. "You wouldn't have listened because you wouldn't have wanted to hurt me, or- or make me go through that just so you could happy. I know you, Louis or at least I did. So I did what I had to, okay?"

"Wh-"

"Does it even matter?" Harry says suddenly, his voice so thick with emotion he fears he might break on the lightest of touch, on the point where Louis' eyes meet his own again and his legs give out. "Like, what's the fucking point anymore?" Now Louis isn't looking at him, now Harry's face is in his hands, his eyes squeezed shut so tightly he might as well see darkness for the rest of his sad life. And suddenly, he is so very tired, like all the emotional melancholy of the past few years is catching up on him all at once, draining away the last of him.

"Harry." There, Louis is saying his name that way again, and if he doesn't stop then each and every wall Harry has worked so hard to put up will crumble and he'll be naked for the former to see into his very soul.

 

"Please don't." Harry mumbles tiredly. " _Please go._ " He looks up and Louis is there, eliciting another broken moan from him. "Louis, _please_." He hangs his head and he's staring down at Louis' trainers, he never really wears socks.

"I- God. There was never. You're so stupid." He breathes, inching closer until they're chest to chest, skin to skin, until Harry is forced to look him in the eye. "God Harry, you're so stupid."

There's something surreal about the moment, something discreet and not quite real that makes Harry grip Louis' arms tightly. He feels as if he has a panoramic view of the whole thing, the beautiful view of something he never would've dreamed to witness.

There's a certain intensity to it, a certain soft tenderness that makes Harry pull Louis in by the back of his neck very, very gently, makes Louis' gaze linger on his mouth, moving up to catch his eyes, his fingertips to brush hesitantly over Harry's prickling skin. It's like a wildfire that spreads all the way from his jaw line to the tip of his toes, scorching everything alive, filling him with heat until his louis bottle is so full that the cap topples over and the feeling seeps out. It's a pretty great feeling.

"Louis." Harry says again, because he can't delude himself into thinking that he'll ever mean something to Louis again, because if Harry ends up getting too wrapped into this, if he's doomed to be too wrapped up into Louis for an eternity then he knows how hard it will be to ever let go. But he can't think, not when Louis' lips are hovering centimeters above his own, his minty breath intoxicating and piercing the space between every inhale and exhale, Louis is the space between every exhale and inhale. And then there's that familiar throbbing of louislouislouis like a litany that makes him curl his hand in a fist around Louis' wrinkled shirt, breathe in the scent of Louis, fill the spaces between his fingers with Louis' own, look at Louis with an intensity that is certainly blinding.

Another soft whisper, the gentle brush of skin, the sound of two one heart breaking.

Their lips flit together, and it messy but soft. This Harry can do, this he has done so many times that when he casts his unwavering gaze on Louis, he doesn't blink, not even once. Harry needs Louis to know, he can't say it, although he can certainly make him feel it, this almost unbearable ache that his tearing him apart from the inside, that on most days scares him until his heart is in his throat. The chemistry is still there, it's almost inevitable.

Harry's hands rest on Louis' tiny waist, easily towering over Louis, leaning down (at least some things haven't changed) and smiles around the kiss, because he's suddenly kissing Louis again and he never wants to stop kissing Louis again. He wants to remember the feel of this, Louis' lips and everything else, the way Louis' body is pressed everywhere against his own, the way his mouth is leaving bruises, the want that furls Harry's stomach into knots, the interlocking and loosening of fingers, the heat flushing through them both.

And then suddenly, he's not.

"No." Louis growls, mustering enough strength to push him away, Harry's lips coming to rest against Louis' jaw as he closes his eyes. "You don't, don't get to do this anymore." He furious with himself, Harry can tell in the way he shakes his head and stumbles back. "No."

And then Louis' gone before he's ever even really there.

OoO

 

"Hi." Harry says, flopping down on Liam's bunk bed, casting shadows and keeping his eyes down. He doesn't know what brought him here but he's here, right? It's got to mean something.

"What's wrong?" Liam asks immediately and okay, so maybe Harry does wear his heart on his sleeve. That, or Liam knows him all too well.

"I kissed Louis." He says out loud and Liam's face contorts from disapproving to scandalized to sympathetic. "I mean, yeah. I kissed him." It's all out there, the world may not know but Liam does. It's more than enough and saying it out aloud makes it realer than it's felt since it happened. He kissed Louis. They kissed.

"You kissed him- Harry what?" Liam squeaks and oh, he knows exactly what comes next. "You mean you kissed Louis? The one with a ring on his fourth finger? You mean betrothed Louis?"

"Yes, Liam." Harry says, annoyed. "That Louis." Is it really that surprising? Liam's treating him like he tried putting an end to the world, but Louis kissed him, too. It's not like he's the only one to blame. "The Louis I'm in love with."

It's the first time he's said it out loud for someone besides him to hear, and it's like a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders. After all these years of being buried into the very depths of him, he finally gets to let it go, and it's a relief. He feels lighter than he has in a long time and yet it's funny how his heart feels heavier just the next second.

"Shit Li, I love him so bloody much." Harry laughs, a cracked humorless laugh.

Liam's face falls. "Oh, Harry." His hands come to rest upon Harry's own, slightly smaller and less pale. "You left him." He says dejectedly and he seems just as miserable as Harry feels. And Harry knows he left Louis, he carries it around everywhere, but everyone needs to stop assuming that he left because the love he felt for Louis wasn't as strong or real anymore, like leaving Louis was the easiest thing in the world when it wasn't. Not a single day passed where it was easy, and God if Harry had any doubt about what pain really was before Louis then living every second of every day without him was enough to wash them away.

"I know." Harry mumbles. "But you don't."

OoO

When things get too bad or when Harry feels a little bit more lonely than usual, he calls his mom. He blubbers out everything that is bothering him and she's always there to listen on the other side, willing to listen.

So he calls his mom. And he aches all over because he misses her and he misses home and late nights around the telly with cups of steaming hot cocoa wrapped in their hands.

"I miss you." She tells him, after a while of harmless conversation.

"I miss you, too." Harry croaks, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

"Oh, baby." She coos sadly, very much aware of the darkness engulfing her youngest and only son. She always worrying about him, marveling over how young he really is and how somehow everyone ends up undermining the fact. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know." Harry responds. "There's so much happening in my life, mum and it's funny because like I thought all of that had already happened so it wouldn't happen again, you know?" He listens to her soft sigh, hates how he still has to call his mother at one in the morning from some crappy dingy club as wasted girls throw themselves on him while his mind is too preoccupied with a certain crooked smile and blue blue eyes to so much as even spare them a second glance. "And then there are the lads, and it's like I don't even know them anymore and how did that even happen?"

"Baby, you wanted this right? So don't let things like that bother you. Look at it this was, you got a second chance so use it, Harry. Right the things you did wrong. " Anne advises patiently and Harry loves her so much, this amazingly smart woman that is his mother and never fails to dumbfound him.

"But the thing is, do I really? I um kissed Louis, and it didn't end well. He hasn't looked at me in a week, he doesn't even look at me anymore." Harry mumbles into the phone and it's almost as if Anne knows. He can picture her smiling sadly from where she's seated on the couch, reading the newspaper, it's Wednesday after all.

She deserves so much more, much more than Harry has to offer. "I just- I feel as if I've disappointed you so much." His voice is broken and Harry wonders for the thousandth time how he got himself into this mess.

"Oh, Hazz. You have never disappointed me. I have never been anything but proud. You've been strong ever since the day your father left and every day after that you have never wavered in being my son. You remember when you used to be a little boy and how you used to pull Gemma's hair and make her cry and then at the end of the day you would crawl into my lap and tell me how sorry you were." He lets out a small sound, something between a laugh and a squeak, wringing through his whole body.

"My point is, Harry, that even though you made your sister miserable for hours at an end, you always knew that the right to do was apologize. And I guess what I'm really trying to say is that you know what you have to do, you always have. You don't need me to do that for you, you don't need to call me to know what you have to do next in your life because in the end you'll wind up following your heart and I am so proud of you, Harry.

You have chased your dreams and you brought them to reality, and every hardship you have had to face you have fought your way through and in every way you have ended up finding Louis to love. You have loved so selflessly and sincerely another that it is beautiful in it's purest essence. And if fate has decided to play on it's account again, if it has brought you back to each other again then you know exactly what you have to do. Don't think, Harry. Just go for it."

In a way, Harry thinks, she's right. For, in all the weeks and breakups and distances and pain and years and happiness and anger that followed, there had never been anyone but Louis. It had always been Louis.

OoO

Harry and Louis have to share a suite in New York. They're staying for a couple of days and Harry's pretty sure Louis' not happy about it, furious, if he's being more precise. The thing is, Harry wants to go to Times Square with Louis even if they've been there together a few times in the past. Harry thinks of the time when he'd looked at Louis under those pretty pretty lights, smiling crookedly with his fingers pressed secretively in the small of Harry's back, the moment when he'd felt that they were invincible, and that may have changed but the fact that Louis shined brighter than Times Square is still fresh in his memory.

He loves Louis, so much that it hurts. And that's really distressing because Louis doesn't. And what do you do, really, when you know you're never going to stop loving a person, this one specific person that holds your heart in their hands, that gave you a chance to love them but you couldn't take care of what the two of you had, that you weren't strong enough to fight for it. Harry thinks he's ruined himself for anyone else, he has.

Sometimes when he can't sleep, when he thinks extensively, he looks out towards the moonlight that is bathing the entire city, wrapping around him in silver fumes so that when he gets tired of it he can turn into his pillow, whispering please come back somehow and fall into a deep dreamless slumber.

OoO

Someone is pacing in front of his door and Harry can't sleep, it's too noisy, his thoughts are too loud, Louis' right across the hall from him. It's their second day in New York and it's like they've formed a routine over the time spent on tour. Louis avoids him like the plague, Harry watches helplessly from afar and reaches out when he's sure Louis isn't looking.

Harry misses Louis.

The lights flicker on and Louis strides in abruptly, sitting on the rear of Harry's bed who blinks rapidly, futilely trying to block out the sudden stream of light illuminating his bedroom. It seems like Louis hasn't been getting much sleep either, he has dark shadows under his eyes and his hair is messy, he hasn't shaved either.

Harry sees him swallow, take in a deep breath, open his mouth.

"You haven't eaten anything." Louis is saying, a frown etching endless creases onto his otherwise perfect forehead. He's fumbling with his fingers, nervously pushing strands of hair out of his eyes. His eyes are the color of the ocean, murky, and Harry can't fathom the emotion swirling in the mass of his sapphire orbs.

"I'm not hungry." Harry retorts, bile coating the inside of his mouth.

"Goddammit, Harry. Of course you're not hungry." Blurts Louis angrily, eyes flashing dangerously. "Have you not been hungry since yesterday? Are you ever hungry anymore?"

"No Louis, sometimes I just don't feel like eating so I don't, okay? But you wouldn't know because you aren't around." Harry snaps, and it's unfair and Louis gets that, knows it better than Harry but he doesn't move, his face an unbreakable solid mask. "Look Louis what- why are you here?" Sometimes Harry wishes Louis would go away. Because no matter what Harry tries to do, no matter how hard he tries to stop feeling anything, it's always there. It's not fair that after all these years he still has this stupid affect on Harry, waltzing in and turning everything upside down, turning everything into ash, deteriorating everything Harry tries so hard to keep together. Where Louis is concerned, Harry has no control, with Louis it is always the incessant pattering of his heart, stomach filling up with so much warmth there's enough to give away always, the irregular pattern of breathing and the love.

"You're incredibly skinny. That's not okay." Louis mumbles wearily, and for a moment they're sucked back in to the time when they were young and happy and hopelessly in love with each other, just a moment. "Harry, you're very skinny. You need to eat. Fuck, this is- you really scare me. You scare me so much."

Harry looks own at his own hands, a sudden tightness cutting the air going down his throat and making his vision blur slightly. "I'm okay." He looks up to meet Louis' worried eyes with his own. When he speaks again, it's almost a whisper. "Really Louis, I'm okay."

Louis' frowns deepens and Harry feels like such an asshole because this wonderful, amazing person sitting on Harry's bed is asking why Harry hasn't been eating when really he should feed Harry mercury disguised in a bowl of fresh salad and avenge everything Harry has made him go through. Louis inches closer, and Harry wants to push him away, walk about New York until his head is clear but he absolutely cannot move. Having Louis as such close proximity again is quite overwhelming and fuck if this is the re occurrence of the last time because Harry's pretty sure his heart won't be able to take much more.

Louis settles right in front of him and their hands brush, once, twice. He's sitting cross legged, facing Harry and in the moonlight he looks more pretty than from every other angle or light Harry has seen him under. He fervently wonders if he deserves everything Louis is throwing at him and thinks yes, pretty much so. Louis' eyes flicker all over him, their knees pressed under the covers and he's having his personal space evaded again but Harry can't quite bring himself to care.

Slowly, Louis lifts his hands and with his fingers brushes away the few stray curls bouncing atop Harry's forehead. The touch is so slight, so feather light that Harry barely feels it, curling his hands around the duvet. Louis' hand slides down from his forehead to his arm, where his fingers linger of the skin and his thumbs draw nonsensical pattern while Harry watches on carefully. Louis' looking at him, his expression unfathomable but his eyes soft and Harry feels something stirring in his throat.

They dance downward, coming to rest upon the bone of his wrist, delicately unclasping his tight hands, artful and experienced. Harry meets Louis' eyes and in cerulean he sees the reflection of his own scared irises, so he understands the way Louis' fingers curl around his wrist and turn it around. They press into the dip there, so gentle, so soft like he fears Harry might break if he's anymore rough.

His head snaps up immediately, his eyes so fierce a blue that Harry blinks, not once but four times, the haze in them so alive and dark that Harry can't believe this look is still for him. Louis' fingers flail desperately over the skin there, trying to find a way to wipe the unevenness of it. Unsure, Harry rests his own hand on Louis' thigh and squeezes in a way that comforts it's okay.

Louis latches eyes with him frantically again, like he needs to keep checking that Harry is still there, that he's okay. The corners of his mouth are set downwards and his lower lip is trembling so, Harry reaches out and squeezes his hand tightly but he needs more, they both do at this point.

"Does is hurt?" Louis demands urgently. "Tell me where it hurts," And here Louis stops for a moment to clear his throat. "And I'll fix it. Where does it hurt, Harry?"

"Louis." Harry says, barely above a whisper and musters enough strength not to kiss him in that same moment. He untangles his hand from Louis' grip and cups his face with it gently, brushing the pads of his thumbs over the golden skin. He lies about it not hurting. "It doesn't. I did it once, my grandmother had just died and I didn't know what to do and I felt lost. It was only once, Louis. It was stupid, I didn't do it again. I just felt so lost." He let's out a strangled sob and it echoes in the room, reverberating off the walls.

"I'm sorry." Louis croaks, and it's broken, too. Louis may have spoken only once but the way his lips find Harry's knuckle and pepper it with kisses, trailing his hot mouth over each finger to leave more open mouthed ones, the urgency in very touch speaks a thousand different things in a thousand different ways, and it's still not enough. Harry wonders if it'll ever be enough.

Harry folds his hands with both of Louis', connecting both their foreheads in once swift forward jerk, relishing in the way Louis doesn't pull back or wither away. For a moment, green meets blue, crinkles around eyes and dimples match perfectly together, souls connect and everything is clear, everything makes sense. In those sapphire glinting eyes, he sees the uncertainty, sees fear. Everything is scary and irrelevant and louis, and for once it's alright.

Louis shifts and their lips brush before they envelope each other completely as delicate as the first time but not as hesitant.Harry licks into Louis' mouth in a way that asks okay? and Louis' quiet moan in response echoes yes, okay. It's languid, getting hungrier by the second as Louis pushes him back on the bed and hovers over him, lightly pressing his weight against the younger man's.

Harry pulls away, breathless. " _Lou_ , okay?" Harry's not allowed to say Louis' name that way anymore, each syllable teetering over the edge of rough emotion but it comes as naturally as someone telling him how nice the weather. lovely, isn't it?

"Yeah, okay." Louis answers, his voice ruined and his fingers trembling. Harry takes them carefully into his own comparatively larger ones, lacing them together to just hold for a while, kissing the top of those feather hair.

"I need," Louis breathes into his mouth, buckling down into him and Harry moans in response. "God, Harry." He nuzzles the tip of his nose in the dip of Harry's collarbone, leaving hot bruising kisses there. His hand moves to the zipper of Harry's trousers, pushing down needily, earning more raspy noises from the back of his throat.

"Yeah, okay." Harry says, connecting their mouths again as he let's Louis have his way. It's wrong, what they're doing, so very wrong an Harry reminds himself that at the end of the day Louis still has a girl waiting for him back home and a whole lot of wedding arrangements to look through. It's just so difficult to concentrate on anything that isn't Louis, filling up every space only he's given the right to fill and Harry knows hes setting himself up for double the struggling heartbreak when the time to go home comes but at least he has Louis for now, at least Harry can keep him warm under his hands for a little while.

They had never been perfect, they fought and screamed and one stormed out of their shared apartment occasionally but at the end of the day, they found their way back to each other, and it was always enough, so worth it. So they may never have been perfect but they were in love and it was beautiful and for a while they made each other so, so happy.

The next morning when Harry rises from slumber there's no warm body instead of him. Instead a reminder of his deluded fantasies and a shattered heart.

please come back somehow.

OoO

There's a feeling, every once in a while it washes over Harry and curls around him until it's ready to move on. It's the warmth scorching the back of his neck and it's a familiar body not pressed up against his and it's a hand not holding his and it's the reminded of everything Harry can't quite seem to abscond from his memory, rub off his skin until it's raw and peeling. The feeling always let's go, but Harry doesn't.

OoO

The flight from New York leaves in about three hours and Harry's packed and ready to go but he's worried they might have to delay because of Louis who's no where to be seen (he's been missing since the morning Harry woke up in bed alone earlier this morning. Harry makes a cup of hot chocolate, pushing his hair back under a plain blue beanie and gulps it down rapidly before locking the door behind him to go for a walk around the hotel grounds. He phones Lou just because and chatters with Lux -who's not so much of a baby anymore- enthusiastically although he feels anything but, taking pictures and signing autographs for an eighteen and nineteen year who're alarmingly deeming on the edge of hysterics.

When he walks back up the door is already unlocked, the shower hot and running distinctively in the background. Harry sighs and strolls to the balcony, leaning against the crimson rails that overlook the city. He takes out his phone and texts Nick, providing his sentiments on his crappy life. He tries not to think too much, occupying himself however he can as so to now wallow in his dolour. The glass door slides open and Louis slithers into the chair lying opposite his.

"Hi." Harry greets in a monotone, concentrating strictly on the blank screen of his phone, panic gripping him from the inside

"Um hi."

"So, listen," Louis says finally, not looking at him, staring profoundly at the granite flooring, his wet hair glistening after the shower. "What happened last night was a mistake. I thought it through and God, I never should have stepped into the room in the first place. I made a huge mistake. Anyway let's pretend it never happened and go back to the way things were." Louis utters the words like it's as easy as breathing, so simple.

Harry chuckles darkly. "You mean back to where you flee the room, refuse to look at me and hate my guts?"

Louis winces slightly. "Listen," But Harry never lets him finish.

"Do you love her?" He demands instead, noticing the shock flick across Louis' face, coiling slowly into anger.

"Excuse me?"

"Do you love her? Eleanor, I mean."

"I think that's barely an appropriate enough question to ask in such a situation. In any situation, actually." Louis retorts hotly, his face contorted into a mask of the utmost annoyance and fury.

Harry snorts cantankerously. "It's a simple question, Louis. Are you or are you not in love with her? Easy enough to answer."

Louis hops up so suddenly he almost topples over, dangerously close enough to the rail to increase Harry's rate of heartbeats by the minute. "You know what, Harry? You don't get me to ask me that because you're not in my life like that anymore and I said what I had to and was completely minding my own busi-"

"It wasn't minding your own business when you came to my room to ask whether I'd eaten."

"That's because I don't want you fucking up the band again with whatever messed up shit you're going through." And out of all the comebacks and curses Louis has ever thrown his way, this one hurts the most. It crawls under his skin, repeating itself like a mantra, taunting to never go away, and he feels his throat constrict. Because things like this coming from Louis actually get to Harry, fucking gets to him and if he wasn't feeling like shit before, he certainly is now. It doesn't help when Louis' face falls like he regrets the words that flow effortlessly out of his mouth.

"Harry-"

"No, don't. You shouldn't be wasting your precious time and words on a fuck up like me. Because you're certainly very good at not cheating on your fiance and of course, you're terrific at not wanting me. Sometimes it takes two to fuck up, Louis."

He slams the balcony door behind him so hard the glass almost shatter, and if it had then each one would have been just as broken as he feels.

OoO

"Niall I totally kicked your ass, shut up." Zayn shrieks, jeering violently at the buttons off his controller, his tongue rolled out as he passes the ball from Nani to Ronaldo.

It's stolen by one of Niall's players expertly.

"Yeah, Zayn. Shut up." Niall grins huge, the signature Niall grin that makes everybody adore him a bit more than necessary. Harry laughs, his eyes twinkling in the light as the other two look up from the floor of their hotel room in Paris.

"When did you get here?" Niall asks just as Zayn mutters you look like shit, concurrently. Zayn pauses the game, they both look at him expectantly and Harry rolls his eyes, curling up into himself on the couch.

"Just carry on with your game, wankers."

"Harry," Zayn intones seriously. "Don't make me have to sit on you."

"I hate you," Harry mumbles as Niall chortles and they both share a look before attacking him with dabbing fingers into his sides, and oh, does Harry hate them. "Okay, stop. Stop." He's breathless, doubling over in pain and in order to prevent any more stitches in his side. "I hate you."

 

They poke him twice more before plopping down in the empty space on the leather, Niall being the affectionate twat he is, drops a smearing kiss on his cheek. "I love you too, Hazz."

This time Harry almost, almost rolls his eyes. "Nope. Don't know what you're talking about. I certainly don't love the lot of you."

"Do you want me to take another toll on that tickling." Zayn threatens, that inconsiderate bastard.

"Fine." He grumps, settling in between them both, ignoring the face that it's the warmest he's felt in days. Niall wraps his arms around his tiny waist and Harry relents, sighing into the crook of his neck.

"So what happened with Louis? And since there's always a Louis with something that makes you feel like shit, I'm figuring it's definitely got something to do with Louis." Harry knows that Louis and Liam are out shopping for whatever it is they need or want so he tells the other two. Because this is One Direction, and One Direction know everything about each other, that's just the way they had always been. He tells them about the kiss, the one night stand (that's what it seems like now, as pathetic as it sounds) the talk after."

"Wow." Niall whistles, blotches of crimson coating his pale Irish skin. "This is really messed up. But like Harry when you, you know, left, we had to deal with Louis' mourning for two years. He fucking mourned, mate as if someone had died and when you think 'bout it, it's something like that." There's that familiar guilt again, eating him apart from the inside, seeping into his bloodstream with renewed zeal. "It was out of line for him to say that but you can't really take his judgement into consideration. He was only starting to get better and then this happened."

Harry finally glances at Zayn, because if there's someone who should be mad at him, it's Zayn, who's Louis' best friend in the band, who was left behind to pick up every broken pieces more than anyone else and sew them together again. Only, Zayn's eyes are furrowed in the way when he's deep in thought and he looks almost tentative, and when he speaks it's shockingly soft in the buzzing of the room because he already knows, of course he knows.

They're about to hear Zayn's serious soliloquy.

"It's weird because when the band broke up, when you and Louis broke up, it was like you completely disappeared, like you didn't need us while you dealt with your labyrinth of suffering. And thing is Harry, you know how Louis is and you know how you are. So if I expected anyone to disappear completely it was Louis, but the first thing he did was fall onto my bed as if he'd had all the life exhausted out of him, all the good gone and without you in his life, it had.

And it was you on those distant meaningless phone calls who never told me anything or how you were holding up which of course, drove me crazy. You were always so fakingly cheery, I hated it. And then. the calls stopped, everything did. And I realized something, Harry. I realized this wasn't easy on you either, that must have fucking hurt, you know?" Harry nods because he does.

"Do you hate me?" He voices timidly and Niall's hand immediately finds his. no, never. of course not.

But Harry only has eyes for Zayn.

Zayn swallows. "At first, yeah. He's my best mate, Harry. But then, you are too. Only you didn't answer any of the whats, whys, hows, nothing. And I did hate you at first but after that epiphany I couldn't. You wouldn't just leave Louis like everything between you never meant anything, you loved him too much, that I know. But like, Harry you should have talked to us, not the contrary where you collapsed into the enigma of yourself."

It seems to Harry that every day on tour, he's spent in this postmortem state, alone or with Zayn or Niall or Liam.

"I love him," Harry looks down at his fumbling fingers, the nagging feeling that he has already exposed too much. Because when you spend three years of bottling the darkest of your secrets, even the smallest of confession is a tiny step that is so difficult to take. "I still do. I can't stop." Everyone has heard him utter those words, everyone that isn't Louis.

And they know. It shows in the way they rap themselves around him while he whispers nonsensical words into their skin, his two best friends he's failed to be very much of a best friend to.

Because he says sorry too much it's started to sound pathetic to his own ears, "You're suffocating me."

Niall places a rough kiss against the side of his ear. "Cuddling is nice."

For the second time, Harry rolls his eyes and this time, Zayn is right there with him.

OoO

Harry belts out to his solo of C'mon C'mon , which is coincidentally right after Louis'. He moves around a lot and has a lot of fun. The fans scream and shout and sing at the top of their lungs, joining in on the lyrics. Harry grins because sometimes he does know how to be happy, he can still have fun without thinking about the complications drowning his more than minor life.

He walks past Louis without acknowledgement because if Louis doesn't want him around, Harry sure as hell can pretend he doesn't exist. He messes with Liam and twist Niall's nipple with pinch.

They come to a close with Moments and thank the crow before trudging backstage. Tonight, Harry has to share a room with Niall, thankfully. He thanks the pianist as the boys file into one car and he assures them he'll take the other one. When a few minutes pass by he gets into the other sleek black one and cajoles his back against the leather, closing his eyes and letting out small puffs of breath.

He walks up to his respected suite, fortunately having been able to avoid the mob o screaming fans out front, grinning because it's almost like old times and he's suddenly one fifth of the once very famous multimillionaire boy again.

Only when he slides his card through the lock, it's not Niall who's waiting for him, it's Louis. Of fucking course. Harry keeps calm, feeling himself coming down from his high.

"Harry," It's just his name being pronounced. It can't mean anything, it doesn't. It's just his name. "

"What, Louis?" They're always going in circles, it's so annoying. Louis and Harry, always a full circle with no positive end or start.

"I'm sorry. I really am." There's something rueful playing around the corners of Louis' mouth and he's outright and he's not looking at him but Harry can feel the sadness in his voice, a tug at his heartstrings, his stomach roiling up with swirling emotion that pierces his heart.

Harry sighs, moving to sit on the bed opposite Louis. "What do you want of me?" Really, Louis. Because if you want, after this tour I'll go away and I assume that's what it is and fuck if I ever take that away from you again. I'll go away and," Harry swallows thickly. "you can forget that I exist."

"I don't want that," Louis says it so quickly, so surely that Harry looks up at him with his lower lip jutting out, the pain deep down in his stomach like someone has ripped it right out. "Don't you see, Harry? You were always- you were it. And I don't know but I need to know why you're here. Please just. Why are you here?"

There would have been a time when Harry would have lied, he would have fucking lied and he would have said that that it was because it was what the boys wanted and it was what he wanted and because it would make his mom happy but things like that have never stopped Louis from pinpointing the truth and persisting the truth. Things like that don't work with Louis.

So Harry settles for the truth because if telling the truth will make Louis a vivid part of his memory and his memory only then Harry has nothing to lose anymore.

He almost breathes it because all this time he's just needed Louis to ask the question of the answer sitting on his tongue and he'd say it, and now he can do it without any regrets. "Because, I was starting to forget the sound of your voice and the touch of your skin and I couldn't recall the exact shade of blue of your eyes," He's whispering it now, shuddering when he feels Louis' eyes on him. "And it was really scaring me because I wasn't ready to let you go. I'm still not, Louis."

Louis doesn't answer for a long, long time, his gaze fixed on Harry and he looks almost ruined. Harry almost tears up because if anything hurts him more than his own pain, it's Louis'. But he can't stop now, if he stops to think about what he's just admit he'll fall apart.

"I- I can't stop loving you, Louis. I tried so hard but I couldn't. I love you, Lou. You with your fiery eyes and crooked smile and your everything. You can't just so all these beautiful, wonderful things and then expect me to not love you. You're, you're beautiful and I am so sorry because I love you so much and I never should have let you go. I'm sorry."

That's it, it's all he has and he's stripped bare but at least Louis knows, at least he's not oblivious of what's he's been making Harry feel for eons, because if they have lived before this life, if they have lived a thousand of them, Harry is sure he has never loved anyone as he has come to love Louis. Pure and sincere and beautiful.

"Can I, can I think about this? Louis asks quietly after a pause, sapphire eyes glistening.

Harry nods because, of course. He can wait.

OoO

In the end, Louis only needs three days.

Tomorrow is their last tour performance and from there it's back to their respective lives but this time Harry swears to keep in touch. And he means it.

The night before, Harry finds himself sitting right in the middle of the stage they'd be performing at the next day, mulling over the experiences who got to rediscover after being reunited with his former band mates, dejected it would be over soon.

There's the soft sound of footsteps padding on the floor, walking away or coming closer, Harry can't tell. He realizes he's more scared than he'd ever want to be, heart beating erratically, beads of sweat accumulating on his forehead. It's almost more heart wrenching then the past three years combined together and laid out in front of him to read the tiniest of lines, the dullest of cripples. Harry crosses his legs and waits.

When Harry looks at him, under the iridescent lights and bubbling fear, he's reminded of scared ocean blue eyes that didn't let him in at first, wry smiles that kept so much hidden, dainty hands cowering in his as they trembled ever so slightly, tiny body fitting seamlessly with his. Harry's reminded of the grace and love that grew with every moment they spent both together and apart and how if he could have it his own way he'd never waste it on anyone else. He looks at Louis now and how much he has grown as a person, and Harry is honestly so fucking proud of him.

Louis is, he is the most amazing person Harry has ever gotten the chance to have in his life, and Harry might not have come a long way since their fall out but Louis has. Because with Harry looking him right in the eye in this very moment, Louis doesn't wither from the situation blinking right at him, he's not the lost seventeen year old who used to cry himself to sleep alone, he's so much more and he's so admiringly strong and Harry feels a dull ache in the pit of his stomach because he wants all of this, all of Louis.

"I broke off the engagement." He announces.

"Oh." Harry tries to disguise in a whisper.

Harry knows there would have been a time when Louis would not settle in front of him like he is right now, not look him in the eye with such openness masking his orbs that it gives everything he previously tried to obscure, away. So Harry waits, because he knows Louis needs his boundaries respected, and talking or not, Harry always hears him.

When Louis speaks, he's not looking at Harry, instead burning a hole in the distance between their fingers.

"All my life, people have taken parts of me, parts they took for granted and then threw away as if I would be able to function without them. They took parts of me, and I let them. I let them convince me I was trash and I let them break me. But there came a time when I was done fighting the rage and living the sorrow so I built myself a small self sufficient world where nothing could hurt me. It was safe, reliable and it was all working out great for me, it really was, until. Until you came along, Harry. You with your stupid curly hair and your dumb jokes that weren't even funny most of the time and your heart on your sleeve, and fuck it scared me so much." Louis heaves out a huge sigh and Harry knows this isn't easy for him either.

He has a sudden urge to hold Louis' hand but he doesn't want to overstep the boundaries, doesn't exactly know what the boundaries are anymore.

"God Harry, you were- you saw right through me, all that time and never once did you push me. You saw me on my dark days, days I pushed everyone away and yet you still waited for me to slowly seep out and I am so grateful for that, Harry. And I know it was never easy with me, but you never doubted me, never doubted us. Harry, it'd come to the point where I solely convinced myself love didn't exist but that moment when you crawled into my bed one night and whispered in the dark that you were in love with me, your eyes bloodshot and your voice shaky all I cared about was how I never wanted to see you so hurt, so scared and I knew then how fucked I was. Which of course, terrified me.

I'd taken risks before and ended up getting hurt every single time, so I was done being adventurous, done being hurt. And I decided to stick with what was easy, but you were- you were never the easy option, Harry. You came into my life and toppled it upside down and you, you drove me crazy and so I chose you. Because funny thing, you were always what was right. Simple yet so intricate and so damn difficult but I chose you.

I let myself believe that you wouldn't ever hurt me and that you won't leave until well, you finally did." He laughs, a ringing humorless one. Harry goes to interrupt but Louis takes his hands suddenly and squeezes. And okay, Harry figures that this is Louis' moment and his only, so he shut his mouth. "You probably had the biggest part of me and you took that away with you when you left."

"I was so mad, more at myself than at you because I'd been a fool to think you'd be any different, you weren't. I didn't understand " Louis takes a deep breathe and looks Harry in the eyes, the blue so strikingly vulnerable. "But I do now. You're so very stupid, Harry, to _think_ that I would be happier with anyone who wasn't you," Harry's breath catches in his throat and he hitches Louis closer. "You're even dumber than I thought. To _think_ your stubborn mind would come up with sentiment of me _not_ loving you, and then you'd _leave me_ so I could be happier which was _obviously_ the last thing on Earth I'd be without you. I could almost punch you right now."

Harry almost tells him too.

"You stupid shit, you couldn't even talk to me, you could talk to me about everything but you couldn't talk to me about that It's been three years, Harry. And fuck, because it's been so hard."

Harry doesn't think he's crying but there's a lump articulating in his throat, and he is just so relieved right now it's hard to breathe. "Very stupid," He finally agrees. They let silence engulf them for a while, trying to process everything. Then,

"Louis, what does this all mean?"

"What do you think?" Louis counters, gripping his knuckles tightly.

"I love you," Harry's quick to say, taking in the familiar scent that is Louis. "I love you so much. I'm so sorry, I love you."

Louis smiles ruefully but it's genuine because his eyes are crinkling around the edges. "I do too, twat. Never stopped." Harry absolutely cannot breathe, he falls into Louis' arms who's content on just holding him after such a long, long time. Harry lifts his head and leaves a chaste kiss on Louis' lips before he pulls away to smile sweetly at the older man, peppering his face with kisses. Each kiss echos love you, each touch screams missed you, every time their eyes meet a promise, i'll never let you go again.

Louis let's Harry have him completely from then, all the walls teared down because Harry is the only one who gets to see all this and so later that night when they're laying in bed together, listening to each other live, Harry voices timidly, "You want to know something?"

Louis hums sleepily in response.

"I read this post on Tumblr a long while ago, and funny thing how I'm just now realizing how true it really was," When Louis doesn't reply, Harry flicks him on the forehead to check whether he's still awake, earning a muffled ow that makes him grin. He kisses Louis' forehead in an attempt of an apology and continues, "It was made by a Larry shipper, crazy those fan girls but I love them anyway." Louis chuckles and Harry kisses him because he hasn't been able to stop ever since they got back together (they're back together, Harry feels giddy) "Anyway, it said that she believed that if we, Louis and Harry, were together then one day we would break up and then she added something wonderful. She said that whether weeks, months or years passed by we'd find our way back to each other again because our love was a necessity. Meant to be, don't you think?"

Louis turns to stare at him in the darkness, close enough for Harry to make out his gentle smile that somehow seems to be entirely to secretive. "How awfully cliche."

Harry snorts. "Shut up. You love it."

Louis shrugs awkwardly from his position on the bed before rolling atop Harry, straddling his waist. He reaches out to run his hands through his curly mop, nuzzling his skin. "Lou-"

"I want to make love to you," Louis whispers tentatively, Harry's hands coming to rest on the small of his back. He feels his heart in his throat and when he shift his head to attach lips with Louis', Harry tries to make him feel everything, everything that's kept him anchored, for words have never really done them justice, words don't, can't even come close to describing them. "I want you."

"I'd like that, yeah." Harry feels the wind knocked out of him, breathless with Louis on top of him and so, so in love.

OoO

**louis and I are back together again!! :) xx**  
 **12:03 am**

_thats wonderful young harold. i wish you nothing but happiness. xx_  
 _12:10 am_

_**Heeyyy. I'm not a Harold, I'm a Harry :( Nicholas you're a twat!** _  
_**12:14 am** _

**I'm so happy, aha :) xxx**  
 **12:16 am**

_glad u thickheads finally came to ur senses. the emotional melancholy was almost exhausting. who am i going to bang now, tho? :((_  
 _12:18 am_

**That was once and I was drunk, you twat.**  
 **12:24 am**

_guess ill just have to bang that claire chick then :DDD_  
 _12:28 am_

**Your force of attraction towards girls is as factual as a gas'. Negligible, none at all.**  
 **12:39 am**

**You're a gas, Nick.**  
 **1:01 am**

OoO

"Last day, Harry murmurs, resting his head on Louis chest, letting out the yawn he tries to futilely keep in. He swallows thickly, drawing patterns on the older's bare skin. Louis hums in response and Harry tries to rid himself of the unease he's feeling. "Lou, what are we doing? Are we taking things slow?"

"Harry we have sex three times in the length on one day, how is that taking things slow?" Louis shifts so Harry has to move, both their heads resting on the same pillow, emerald penetrating into jade.

"No, I mean what happens after? Because all this ends today and then we're back to whatever we were doing before this tour and I don't know, are we taking things slow?" Harry watches the blue eyes blink once and then Louis' hand lifts to caress his face. His stare is solemn, as is the moment they're stuck in.

"I'd want to take things slow but," Louis smiles. "But you're Harry and I can't take things slow with you. So when we go back tomorrow, move in with me. Come home, Harry."

"Home?" his eyes ask.

"Home." Louis confirms.

A small smile forms around the corners of Harry's mouth. "Always."

OoO

Later when they're performing their last concert, feeling the sadness seep into their veins already, Louis crosses the distance between them and kisses Harry, in front of the whole world. He kisses him like they're actually going away tomorrow, he kisses like he has a point to prove. To Harry and to the hundred thousands of people watching. For one quick second, flashes of an auburn haired women in London with a tear stained face and a finger missing a ring cross Harry's mind but they're gone just as soon. For this moment is Louis and Harry's.

There's Niall who's grinning and yelling i fucking knew this would happen, Zayn who's nodding in approval and Liam who's outright beaming. And then there's Louis who's smiling so big and sheepish and whispering couldn't keep them waiting any longer, could I?" and Harry pulls him in again, filled with so much love he feels he might burst at the seams.

And for now, everything's okay. They're okay.


End file.
